‘Pardon?’
‘Can I borrow . . . can I have five pounds please?’
‘You haven’t given me back the money I lent you last week yet,’ Mike reminded her.
‘I haven’t got it. That’s why I’d like to borrow some more. I know you can afford it. Five pounds isn’t that much.’
Mike glanced down. He half expected to see subtitles winding their way across the floor telling him just what was going on. There was something bizarre happening. Something written on Gemma’s face plain enough for him to read, only for some reason he couldn’t quite manage to do so.
‘What d’you want it for?’ Mike asked.
‘I haven’t decided yet,’ Gemma told him.
Mike frowned at her. What on earth . . .? Then all the cogs in his mind slotted into place and started moving as one. He understood.
‘I haven’t got five pounds,’ he said, still unwilling to believe the evidence of his own ears and eyes.
‘Yes, you have,’ Gemma argued. ‘You, Kane and Patrick are going to the pictures tonight. I heard you talking about it. I’m not taking all your money. I just want five pounds. I need it.’
Mike’s body stiffened. ‘You’re not getting it from me.’
Looking into his eyes, Gemma asked, ‘I wonder how Kane and Patrick would feel knowing that their new best friend’s mum is in prison. She’s in there for manslaughter, but you and I know the truth about you, don’t we, Mike? We know why you really don’t want anyone to know.’
The room started spinning like a gyroscope, up and down and round and round until Mike thought he was going to tumble off the end of the world. And the edges of the world around him were getting darker and darker, like a kaleidoscope closing. In that moment, Mike realised that if he didn’t do something – and fast – he was going to pass out. He couldn’t pass out. Not here. Not now. Not in front of her. He closed his eyes briefly to take a concentrated deep breath. When he opened them again, she was still there.
‘I wonder how everyone in the class – no, everyone in the whole school – would feel if they knew the truth?’ Gemma continued.
‘And you’d tell them.’ Mike didn’t know if it was a statement or a question. His answer was a smile. One of Gemma’s secret smiles.
‘It is such a shame about your mum.’ Gemma shook her head. ‘I don’t think everyone would understand the way I do.’
The swimming, giddy feeling inside Mike faded. It was making way for something else, something far more powerful. Mike stood in front of Gemma, his fists clenched, his eyes like stones as he looked at her. Without a word, he took five pounds out of his trouser pocket and held it out towards her. Gemma took it without touching him, without looking at it.
‘Thanks,’ she said.
Moments later she was out of the room and gone.
31
Gemma
Money
Gemma wondered if she’d ever stop throwing up. And it wasn’t just her stomach that felt sick. Every cell in her body was revolted by what she’d just done.
After flushing the toilet, Gemma put down the toilet lid and sat down. She was in the end cubicle in the girls’ toilets and she never wanted to come out. What had she done? She wiped the back of her hand across her mouth. Only then did she realise she was still holding Mike’s money.
It wasn’t hers. It would never be hers. She didn’t want it. Gemma threw it against the cubicle door. It bounced back at her, falling at her feet. Gemma stared at it, hating it. All night she’d lain awake thinking about her family and comparing it to Mike’s. He had a mum who loved him. She didn’t. He had grandparents who took him in when he had nowhere else to go. If Gemma had nowhere else to go, who would take her in? Mike had friends. She didn’t. He belonged already. She never had. She’d spent the whole night thinking about him and if she was truthful, being jealous. Even though his mum was in prison, he had everything she didn’t. So this morning she’d been determined to get something of his. But now she had, she’d never felt so wretched. OK, so she’d asked . . . told Mike not to go to Robyn’s party, but that was just . . . That was different. Yes, it was horribly spiteful but compared to this . . .
She tried to remember everything she’d said, word for word. Maybe it hadn’t come across as taking his money off him in return for keeping quiet. But even as she thought it, Gemma knew she was deluding herself. It had come across as that all right because that’s exactly how she’d wanted it to come across. And all that stuff about knowing the truth – that had all come out on the spur of the moment. Instinctively, Gemma had been aware that Mike didn’t want anyone to know his mum was in prison. It didn’t matter what she was in there for, it could’ve been for one day or ten years, it was all the same to Mike as far as making it public was concerned. He just didn’t want anyone to know. The truth was he was so ashamed of her, he’d rather she was dead than in prison. Gemma had read that much on his face when he’d talked about his mum.
Gemma picked up the five pound note at one corner. She could hardly bear to touch it. She must’ve been crazy. She’d go and find Mike and give it back and apologise like she never had before.
Gemma left the girls’ toilets, gingerly clutching the money. She had to find Mike fast before she lost her nerve. She had to find him before he told anyone what she’d done.
32
Mike
Corners
Mike finally found what he was looking for. A place to be alone. A place to hide. It was right at the back of the library, in the reference section. There was just a single table and no one was sitting at it.
Mike sat down carefully in a chair with his back to the rest of the library. He placed his bag on the floor beside him, wincing as it made a slight sound against the wooden floor. Covering his face with his hands, he forced himself to think. He should tell a teacher or Gramps and Nan. He had to tell someone what was going on. He couldn’t allow Gemma to get away with it. How many others in the class was she getting money from? Was that why no one spoke to her? Someone should’ve warned him.
Mike heard footsteps coming his way. Quickly, he removed his hands from his face. He leaned back in his chair and took the first book off the shelf that his fingers touched. The footsteps turned the corner. Mike glanced up.
Gemma.
Mike scowled as she approached him. What did she want? More money? Cos if she did, she was out of luck. He’d . . . he’d . . . Well, he didn’t know what he’d do, but he wouldn’t let her take more money from him, that was for sure. Why couldn’t she leave him alone? Wasn’t he even safe in the library for goodness’ sake?
‘This is yours.’ Gemma held out his five pound note.
Mike looked from it to her. What was she up to?
‘Go on. Take it. It’s your money,’ Gemma insisted.
‘I don’t know what your game is, but I’m not playing. Now go away. And don’t come anywhere near me again.’ Mike’s voice was low and even. He made a great show of turning in his chair to read the book he had in his hands. He had no idea how he could sound so cool and calm when inside all he wanted to do was . . . was smash things. Smash her.
‘I don’t want your money,’ Gemma said from behind him.
‘D’you think I’d take it back – or even touch it after you’d had it?’ Mike said, scornfully. ‘You want it so badly? You stuff it!’
Silence.
Mike turned his head to see what she was doing – he couldn’t help it. Gemma put the five pound note down on the table in front of him. Before Mike was even aware of what he was doing, he picked up the money, scrunching it in his hand in the process, and threw it at her. It hit Gemma in the face, on her cheek, before falling to the floor. They were both outside and beyond time. There was nothing and no one in the universe but them – and the line that had been drawn between them.
‘Go on. Take your money,’ Mike hissed. ‘And I hope it chokes you.’
Gemma bent down. Her fingers curled around the five pound note. She straightened up and walked aw
ay without a backwards glance.
Mike put down the book he was holding. He still had no idea what it was and he didn’t care. He laid his head on his folded arms resting on the table. He was tired. Tired of the day, the month, the whole year. And he missed his mum so very, very much.
33
Gemma
Moon And Stars
Gemma walked home. The traffic roared past her, people hurried by and usually Gemma scarcely knew they were there. She was always too deep into her own thoughts. But not today. Today she didn’t want to think, so she studied every car, every building, every expression on each passing face. She studied and analysed them to stop her mind moving on to other things. She looked into the small newsagent-cum-post-office – the queue was almost at the door. She looked into the baker’s shop, watching as a man asked if the doughnuts were fresh.
And then she saw it in the next shop – a boutique. On display in the window was the most beautiful jumper Gemma had ever seen. It was a deep, midnight blue, embroidered with a silver crescent moon and tiny golden stars and moonbeams. Gemma had never seen anything like it before. She looked up to see the name of the shop. Material Girl. Why did that name ring a bell? Hang on! Wasn’t this Robyn’s mum’s shop? Yes, it was. Gemma knew she recognised the name. She looked through the window to make sure that Robyn wasn’t in there, then she walked in.
‘Hi. Can I help you?’ a shop assistant asked with a friendly smile.
‘Yes, you can. That jumper in the window . . .’
‘From the Shayne Jarvis night-time collection?’
Gemma nodded, although she had no idea whether it was or not. ‘Yes, that’s it. How much is it?’
The shop assistant’s smile broadened. ‘We’ve had a lot of interest in those. They’re selling like hot cakes. What size were you after?’
‘Size ten.’
‘Let’s see.’ The assistant beckoned for Gemma to follow her.
Wending their way past racks of gorgeous skirts, shirts and trousers, the assistant stopped in front of a carousel rack of assorted jumpers. Spinning the carousel around she searched amongst them for Gemma’s size.
‘Here we are! There are two size tens left. Would you like to try it on?’
Gemma glanced down at her watch. If she tried on the jumper she’d be late home.
‘Very quickly then,’ Gemma said at last.
The shop assistant showed Gemma to the fitting rooms and handed her the jumper. Gemma pulled off her jacket and burgundy cardigan and pulled the new one over her head. When she looked in the mirror, her mouth fell open. It looked wonderful. She looked wonderful. And it fitted like a glove – as if it’d been made just for her. She turned this way and that, looking at her reflection in the mirror. The jumper was amazing. It made her look amazing – like a different person. Gemma hardly recognised herself. The colours suited her exactly. She had to have it. Reluctantly, Gemma pulled it off, before looking for the price label. There wasn’t one. Putting on her own cardigan and jacket, she left the fitting room.
‘So what did you think?’ The shop assistant asked.
‘It’s lovely,’ said Gemma. ‘How much is it?’
‘Forty-nine pounds, ninety-nine.’
Gemma stared. Fifty pounds for a jumper?
‘It may sound like a lot but the moon is hand-sewn and the stars and moonbeams are hand-embroidered. These jumpers really are a work of art.’
Gemma looked at the jumper again. She longed to have it but no way could she afford to spend fifty pounds on a jumper. She handed it back.
‘Shall I wrap it up for you?’
‘Er . . . no, thank you. I can’t afford it,’ Gemma mumbled.
The shop assistant smiled. ‘Maybe you could get your mum and dad to buy it for you for your birthday.’
‘Maybe.’
‘I’d hurry though. We’ve only got two more in your size and after that we might not get any more in.’
Gemma nodded, leaving the shop. She turned to take another look at the jumper in the shop window. Her jumper. That’s how she thought of it now. Could she ask Dad for the money? No way. He’d never give her fifty pounds in one go, and certainly not for a jumper. She might as well ask for the moon. Maybe if she told Dad it was for a school trip . . .? But what would happen when the trip didn’t materialise?
That jumper was going to be hers – she was determined.
With that jumper she could force off her cloak of invisibility for good. With that jumper everyone would notice her, not only Mike. With that jumper she’d be a new person – someone who could look in a mirror without flinching. Gemma had to come up with a way – and fast – of making enough money to buy it. But how? Where on earth was she going to get fifty pounds?
34
Mike
Happy Now
Mike pushed his cabbage and spring greens round and round his plate with his fork. There was a strange silence at the dinner table, each person deep in their own thoughts.
Go on! Ask! Mike thought sternly. Just open your mouth and ask!
‘Gramps, when are we going to see Mum? You said we could go and see her soon,’ Mike reminded his grandad.
Gramps and Nan exchanged a look.
‘I . . . er . . . I’ve been finding out about it.’ Gramps was flustered for some reason. ‘Apparently I have to write to . . . to your mother and ask her to send us a visiting order. They won’t let us into the prison to see her without one.’
‘Haven’t you written to her yet?’ Mike asked, dismayed.
‘No. I haven’t got round to it. I’ll do it sometime this week.’ Gramps nodded.
Sometime this week! Mike couldn’t believe it. Gramps was talking about it as if it had the same priority as pruning his roses or hanging a picture on the wall. Didn’t he know how much this meant to Mike? Couldn’t Gramps see how much Mike needed to see his mum? How could he be so casual about it?
‘I want to see my mum,’ Mike told him, barely able to contain his rising fury. ‘You should’ve written to her ages ago. I know you hate her but she’s my mum. I want to see her.’
‘Yes, I understand that,’ Gramps said carefully. ‘And I don’t hate her.’
‘That’s what you say . . .’
‘Because it’s the truth,’ Gramps replied. ‘I’ll do it as soon as I get a moment.’
‘All right then. Tell me what to do and I’ll do it, seeing as how you can’t be bothered,’ Mike said icily. ‘Do I just write to her at the prison?’
‘Of course I can be bothered. I said I’d do it and I will.’
‘D’you promise?’
‘Mike, I hardly think . . .’ Nan began.
‘I want Gramps to promise,’ Mike insisted. He turned back to his grandad. ‘Well?’
‘I promise. Happy now?’
No. Far from it. But it would have to do – for now. With each passing day, Mike felt like he was hanging on to normality by his fingertips – and his grip was slowly but surely slipping. Everything was so complicated: home, school, his mum, his whole life. How had it all become so complicated? One moment’s anger, one single act and his whole world had been turned upside down. It was his mum’s fault. She should have got them away from his dad long before things went as far as they did. She’d said as much, admitted to it in court. It wasn’t his fault, it was mum’s fault. He had to hang on to that. He had to cling on to the fact that he’d done nothing wrong. That was all he had. And if he lost that . . .
35
Gemma
Reparations
‘So, Gemma, how was school today?’
‘The same as ever.’ Gemma shrugged.
Gemma knew without looking up from her homework that her dad was watching her. Since she’d found out about Mum, it seemed like every time she looked up, there he was.
‘Why don’t you invite a couple of your friends around sometime?’ Dad asked.
Gemma’s head snapped up.
‘I mean, it’s just that I never see any of your friends,’ Dad carried o
n.
Gemma ignored the slow burn of embarrassment creeping over her face. ‘I didn’t think they’d be particularly welcome – especially with you and Tarwin yelling at each other all the time.’
‘Of course they’d be welcome. It’s your birthday next month. You should have a party.’
Gemma returned to her homework without saying a word.
‘Would you like that?’
‘What? A party?’
Dad nodded.
‘I’ll think about it.’ Gemma turned so Dad couldn’t see her face.
‘Would you like some ice-cream after dinner?’ asked Dad.
Gemma frowned. ‘We don’t have any.’
‘I could pop to the corner shop and get some,’ Dad suggested.
Gemma frowned at him. Well, she’d say one thing for him – he was really trying. Gemma had never had so much attention from her dad. For years she’d wanted him to realise that he had a daughter as well as a son, but now that her wishes were finally coming true, she felt like she was being smothered.
‘No, thanks. I’ll just have some fruit after dinner,’ Gemma stated.
‘OK,’ said Dad, just a hint of disappointment in his voice.
The front door opened and closed. Footsteps sounded, coming towards the kitchen.
‘Hi, Tarwin,’ Gemma called out.
Tarwin appeared in the doorway. ‘What’s all this then?’ he grinned.
‘We’re making dinner.’ Dad smiled.
‘What is it?’
‘Bangers and mash – if that’s all right with you, princess?’
Gemma regarded her dad thoughtfully. She’d never heard him call her that before. Try as she might, she couldn’t make out what had come over him. And she couldn’t figure out why she wasn’t pleased at the change in him. She should be jumping for joy but she wasn’t. She couldn’t work out how she felt. Maybe she didn’t feel anything. Maybe that was the problem. Too many months and years of being invisible had left her incapable of feeling anything for anyone – except her mum. And now that was gone too. She wasn’t invisible any more – she was a robot. Gemma smiled at the thought. A robot sounded much better. If she was a robot then nothing and no one could hurt her. The ideal position to be in. Yes, that was much better.